


Back in the Dance

by QueenSeraph



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Feels, Fluff and Smut, Massage, Porn With Plot, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Episode: s01e13 Daredevil, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenSeraph/pseuds/QueenSeraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long time without seeing her, Matt comes home from work soon after the incident in Sokovia to find Natasha waiting for him in his apartment, complete with battle wounds and a knot in her back. A massage gets a little more hands on than Matt had intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back in the Dance

“See you Monday, Karen. Go home for once,“ Matt tossed over his shoulder as he left Nelson & Murdock. Half out of habit, and half for Karen’s peace of mind, he locked the door behind him, smiling to himself as he heard Karen relax… though he knew that sort of settling in meant she’d be there a lot longer than she should be.

He pulled his cane from his pocket as he walked down the hall, fulfilling the image of the blind man people expected. He probably could have made it to his apartment totally on autopilot by this point, cane or no, but the cane made it easier - people tended to give him more space, letting his senses roam and take in his surroundings, sifting through the scents and sounds of Hell’s Kitchen.

At the first intersection from his office building, Matt walked past a run-down street food cart run by an elderly woman with a glass eye and quite a few missing teeth . She was always running her tongue over the few teeth she had left, and that moist, slippery sound was unmistakable as Matt came around the corner, ignoring a teenager who almost tripped over his cane before scurrying off with a hurried apology. As Matt passed the old woman’s cart, he picked up an unusual scent–flowers. He recognized the light, pleasant scent, though he couldn’t place where he’d smelled it before; it wasn’t exactly common for this city.

As the delicate scent faded into the background, a heavier, sharper, metallic odor replaced it. He flinched at the stark difference between the two before registering the source–a side alley off the sidewalk. There was a pair of dumpsters in the alley, each next to a restaurant’s back door. The one furthest from the street carried the odor, and while it was tempting to stop and try to figure out what it was, Matt forced himself to keep going. No one else would have been aware of it, and he didn’t want to look suspicious; a blind man in a suit digging in a dumpster was bound to look odd.

Matt continued his walk home. Just as he was about to enter his apartment building, there was another strong, unusual smell emanating from a nearby trash bin. He paused for a moment, taking in the barely familiar, doughy smell, as if from a paper wrapper. It smelled nothing like what the bakeries in this part of New York produced. There was a lingering trace of something that would have been inside the dough…but Matt couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Cabbage maybe? And some kind of protein.

Still puzzling over the unusual scents on his path home, Matt climbed the stairs to his apartment, distracted enough not to notice anything else unusual until he reached his floor. He stopped as he reached the hall, however, cane poised in front of him, listening closely. He could hear someone moving in his apartment, quietly enough that no one else would notice the movement…but it didn’t sound like they were exactly hiding, either. He breathed slowly, and hints of a familiar flowery shampoo, very similar to the flowers on the food cart, reached his sensitive nostrils, and he relaxed. Natasha, of course. Now the metaphorical breadcrumbs made sense.

He’d heard the fiasco that had been the Avengers involvement in Sokovia on the radio in the office a few days ago, and Foggy and Karen had filled in the details that he’d missed from the news channels, being unable to see the carnage. And while Natasha kept a place of her own in the city, she’d occasionally show up without warning at his place when she needed someone (or somewhere) to escape to, no matter how much she didn’t want to admit it. He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t expect it after the latest attempt at world destruction.

He purposefully knocked his cane against the wall beside his door, then made a racket out of getting his key in the lock. One could never be TOO careful not to startle the Black Widow, even if she was expecting him. As he quietly entered the room, the soft sound of her shifting around near the wall under the window came to Matt’s attention. He couldn’t be sure, from this angle, but is sounded like she was laying on the floor.

“Natasha?” he asked cautiously, leaning his cane in the corner by the door and setting his keys down on the side table. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing,” she quipped, sarcastically. 

“Well, considering I can’t see you…” he trailed off, making his way to the couch and sitting beside her. “I’m going to hazard a guess at…Twister?”  
Her heart rate was slightly elevated from exertion and frustration. “Very funny. Yoga, smartass,” she replied, giving up on her pose and moving to sit on the opposite end of the couch. She was moving carefully, almost gingerly. “I wrenched my back in Sokovia, and the hours on the plane haven’t helped, even with Stark’s jet. Here, feel,” she suggested, pulling her shirt over her head with a wince and moving so her back was inches from his right arm. He blushed fiercely, suddenly very glad she was facing away from him.

Fortunately, this was not a new situation. Unfortunately, it wasn’t any less awkward than the first, second…however many times they’ve been here. They’d been here many times, but they’d never truly worked out the dance, and the long intervals between their meetings didn’t help. Neither did the fact that he thought her far out of his league, and couldn’t fathom why she chose to keep coming back.

Gently, he ran his fingers over her back, starting from her neck and trailing along her spine, trying to keep the apprehension he felt in the pit of his stomach from radiating out to his hands. About midway down her back, he came across a tight knot of muscle, radiating heat. “That…yeah. That feels bad. Do you…I could…I mean, if you want…I could give you a back massage?” he stumbled, removing his hand. “There’s a giant knot, here, below your shoulders, and it feels hot so I think there’s some soft tissue damage too. Or I have some painkillers if that woul-”

“Matt,” Natasha murmured. “Ты говоришь многа. A massage would be wonderful.” 

“Oh, ok. I uhm…” he tugged gently at the band on her sport bra. “I’m not just trying to get you naked but…it would be, uhm, easier without this here.” he pointed out, and without comment she tugged it off over her head, tossing it aside. Taking a deep breath, Matt shifted himself so his shoulders were parallel to Natasha’s, tucking his knee between her hip and the couch. Tentatively, he ran his fingers over her scarred skin, feeling the taut muscles beneath it.

He dug his hands into her shoulders, hard enough to hurt a normal person. But this was Natasha, and she just sighed, her back rising and falling under his sensitive hands, her head falling forward.

As her shoulders started to loosen, Matt brushed her short hair away from her neck, kneading gently at her spine. His thumbs rubbed counter circles on either side of her vertebrae, pressing up into the base of her skull, then moving down until he was back at her shoulders.

—

Natasha could feel the tension falling away as Matt’s strong, capable hands moved over her back. She hissed slightly as he dug into the knot in her middle back, and he paused, but she merely gestured him onwards.

Matt had been a comfortable constant in her life since their quite literal blind date a few months after the New York invasion. He was a steady presence when she needed to get away from all the posturing and drama that came with the Avengers. They weren’t dating, or an item, (in point of fact, they’d never put what they were into words) but they understood each other. They were friends, occasional vigilantes, and what happened when they came together was wonderful. Neither of them saw a need to complicate that with a label.

She groaned appreciatively as that knot in her back finally released, leaning into Matt’s touch. His hands softened as she stretched, then moved away entirely, coming to rest in his lap. He dropped his head as though to avoid looking at her topless form, leaning away slightly as she arched her spine, hair nearly tickling his chest.

Clearly, he was missing the point.

“Thank you, мой дьявол, that was fantastic,” she murmured, relaxing and rolling her neck. “But why take your hands away?”

“I wasn’t…I didn’t know if you wanted….didn’t want to assume…it’s been awhile since we’ve been…we’ve done that.” He stammered. She turned to face him, spine popping as she moved, and he was as red as his Daredevil suit.

“Matt, I would have gone to one of the physical therapists on the Avenger’s payroll if all I’d wanted was a knot out of my back,” she pointed out, brushing her fingers over the back of his hand, feeling his pulse jump when she wrapped them delicately around his wrist.

He was still hesitating. “I thought…I heard in the news, you and Banner…”

“Banner?” She laughed. “What? No. I mean, he’s a genuinely nice guy when he’s not turning green, but no. You know the media. They got wind of the fact that I was the only one who could get him to change back from monster to man, and ran away with it. The Hulk just responds better to women; he’s like a dog that’s been kicked too many times and doesn’t trust men any longer.”

Matt visibly relaxed, his hand turning and tracing up the inside of her arm. “So is this why you broke into my apartment?” He asked as she turned away again, hand resting on her shoulder blade.

“Well, technically, I came here because Stark and Rogers were driving me up the wall and I knew you were good with your hands, but I’ll admit the thought did cross my mind,” she murmured, leaning into his touch encouragingly.

His hands starting moving then, smoothing over the now relaxed muscles, pausing and tracing her scars, old and new, finding marks and bruises still unhealed from Sokovia. He leaned forward and brushed his lips up her spine, making her shiver. “Is this okay? He murmured against her skin.

“Yes,” she whispered, head tilting back. She held perfectly still as his lips explored the skin his hands had just traversed, pressing a kiss to each new wound. She knew he could hear and feel her heartbeat and breathing quicken, even catch occasionally, but he didn’t pick up his pace or move on until he’d explored every inch of the pale, if blemished, skin of her back.

By this point, she was practically purring under his hands, though she’d never admit as much. His hands slid to her front then, resting on her stomach as he shifted forward to press his chest against her back. “And this?” He asked pausing with his lips against the side of her neck.

“Other than the fact that you’re still wearing that suit, yes,” she replied. He chuckled at that, and moved away for a moment. She turned to watch as he removed his suit jacket and folded it over the back of the armchair, then undid his tie and tossed it there as well, unnervingly accurate for a blind man. She stared hungrily as he unbuttoned his dress shirt next, revealing his well muscled torso to her eyes. She ran her tongue across her lips and bit the bottom one slightly.

“See something you like?” He teased, adding his shirt to the pile on the armchair.

“There’s a very delicious slice of man over there,” she replied huskily as he returned to his place behind her, pulling her to lean against him and brushing his lips along her neck again.

“Is there someone in my apartment I can’t see? I’m a little distracted here,” he breathed against her.

“Don’t you have something better to do with those lips than be snarky, Murdock?” She pointed out, breath catching slightly as his fingers tickled her stomach.

Matt bit down on the juncture between her neck and shoulder in response, drawing a gasp from her. His hands moved up to brush the undersides of her breasts, tracing the heavy curves. He sighed contentedly, causing a shiver as the cool air rushed over her skin, damp from his mouth being on her. 

She rocked back, grinding against where she could feel his cock hardening against her ass, even through their remaining layers of clothing. He groaned, but gripped her hip to stop her. “No, I want to make this last,” he grunted, “and if you start that, it won’t.”

His words sent a thrill through her. Normal for them was quick and dirty, pent up adrenaline after a night of fighting crime in his micro-managed ten blocks of NYC, and they rarely took it slow. When they did, though, it was mind blowing.

Assured that she wouldn’t start grinding on him again, his hands returned to her breasts, cupping them, his thumbs rolling over her hardened nipples. His mouth moved to the other side of her neck as he began to gently knead her breasts, pinching occasionally at the tips.

Before long, he had her moaning under his talented hands. She started to grumble when he moved them, one pressing against her ribs to hold her against him, but the groan turned to a whine when the other moved down to palm her through her yoga pants and panties. She rolled her hips against his hand, and he stopped his motions

—

Matt stopped rubbing at Natasha through her pants when she rolled against his palm. “Ah ah ah,” he chastised in a low voice, lips millimeters from the shell of her ear. “Don’t move, just let me touch you.” She moaned in response, but he felt her tense slightly in an effort to stay still. 

“Good,” he whispered in her ear, slipping his hand inside the waistbands of her yoga pants and underwear, fingers sliding between her damp folds. “Just hold still, let me take care of you.” He dropped his lips to her neck again as his fingers found her clit. With a gasp, her legs fell open further, one falling off the couch and her foot resting on the floor. Her hands gripped the arm working her, nails digging into his forearm. 

He could feel her pulse in the hard nub beneath his fingers, a steady but increasing beat, guiding him. The silk shift of her skin over his front raised goosebumps on his flesh, every shift and sigh reverberating through his body.

“Love you like this, Natasha,” he breathed against her skin, tracing mindless patterns on her clit. she moaned slightly, though whether at his words or the motion of his fingers, he wasn’t sure. “You’re so perfect, held up against me, feeling your breathing, your heartbeat….and how wet you are, how open you are for me.” He punctuated the last bit by sliding a finger into her, feeling her walls quiver at the sudden penetration.

“Matt,” she breathed. “ты ебёшь меня, пожалуйста.”

“You know I don’t speak Russian, малинкой паук,” Matt replied teasingly, tripping slightly over the nickname.

“You know what I want,” she replied, thighs shaking with the effort to hold still, not fuck herself down on his hand.

“I know I want you to wait,” he replied, adding another finger. “I want to feel you come against my hand first, you don’t know how good you feel, your muscles squeezing down on my fingers.”

She was close, panting now, and he could feel her starting to pulse around him, feel the tension in her limbs. “Let go, beautiful. Come for me.”

Natasha cried out, nails digging into his forearm nearly hard enough to draw blood. The walls of her vagina clamped down, hard, around his fingers, thumb still pressed to her clit. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, her mouth spread open in a wordless cry, before she turned her head to bury it in the crook of his neck, whole body softening, her inner muscles fluttering as she came back down.

—

Natasha relaxed against Matt’s torso, a slight shiver running through her, breathing in the scent of his skin. She shifted slightly in her daze, feeling his cock, harder than ever, against her back. He hissed at the motion, burying his nose in her hair.

Regaining some of her mobility, she turned, lazily, so she could face him, straddling his lap, his hands moving to her hips, left one still damp. “That,” she purred, kissing him “was amazing.” They kissed lazily for a while, tongues sliding against each other, hands smoothing over each other’s skin.

She ground experimentally down on his lap, then, and his breath caught, hips jerking up into her. He drew back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Natasha…” he murmured, thumb stroking her cheek, other hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.

“Tell me what you want, Matt,” she replied, running her hand down over his pecs and coming to rest on his abs. “It’s up to you.”

He choked for a second, before admitting, “I want to fuck you.”

She smiled, knowing he could feel her expression with his hand on her cheek. “Then what are you waiting for? I asked you once already.”

“Is that what that was,” he muttered, before crashing his lips against hers again, though the effect was totally different. They ground against each other, and she whined, frustrated by the layers of clothing. Still kissing him, she reached between them and scrabbled at the button on his trousers, drawing down the zipper and rubbing at the lump in his boxers, pulling a moan from between his lips. “Want you,” he gasped, even as his hips thrust up into her hand. “Not your hand. Want to be inside you.”

With one last kiss, she stood, pulling him with her, and shoved his trousers down over his hips, quickly followed by his boxers. His cock bobbed free, precum leaking from the head. She took his hands, placing them at the waistband of her pants, encouraging him to strip her. He slid both her pants and her panties off her at once, kneeling at her feet to help her step out of them, brushing his lips up her leg to press a kiss to her hip, before standing swiftly and crowding into her.

“Bedroom?” she asked.

“Too far,” he grunted, pulling her hips against his. “Unless….shit. Condoms are in there.”

“You still clean?” she mumbled, mouthing at his torso, flicking her tongue over a nipple. She wasn’t going to ignore that when it was right in her face.

“Yeah,” he replied, groaning slightly under her mouth.

“Then we’re good,” she stated, drawing her nails down his sides. He caught her mouth again and guided her backwards until her knees hit the couch and she sat, swinging a leg up on it and leaning back. He followed her, bracing his arms on either side of her waist.

She reached down, taking his cock in her hand and stroking him, thumb swirling over the tip, nipping at his bottom lip at the same time. “C’mon, Matt, are you going to fuck me or not?” she challenged as he pushed into her hand. He growled, actually growled, and grabbed her wrist, balancing above her one handed. She just grinned at him, her grin turning to a gasp as he brushed his tip against her cunt. “Боже мой,” she swore, tilting her hips so he slipped partly inside of her. “Yes, Matt, god yes.”

Slowly, he pressed into her, letting her adjust to his girth. He settled some of his weight onto her once he was fully seated, waiting for her. As soon as she’d gotten used to the feel of him inside her, she moved, wrapping her legs around his hips, and rolled her hips encouragingly.

Matt thrust into her, slowly at first, mouth returning to her neck as her head rolled back. He moved, both arms free now that he was inside of her, and gripped the arm of the couch, holding herself above her and leaving her hands to roam across his back, tracing the lines of muscle there.

He pulled nearly out of her before thrusting back into her; long, slow strokes that, from this angle, hit deep inside of her on each stroke. His mouth travelled down her neck to her breasts, taking a nipple and rolling it between his teeth, sending jolts of pleasure to her core.

She moaned under him, rolling her hips to meet his thrusts, and he was moving faster now, mouth leaving her breasts, knuckles white on the arm of the couch as he leaned over her. She shifted up so she could kiss his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, and his coworkers be damned if they saw it.

“Tasha,” he panted, hips losing their rhythm. She knew Matt well enough, had done this with him enough, to recognize his tone and motions. She lifted his chin, meeting his lips in a hungry kiss, and reached down their bodies to finger her clit, wanting to come alongside him. He groaned against her lips, movement stuttering.

She could feel him tensing, desperate to wait for her, knowing what she was doing. A few brushes of her fingers had her there with him. “Let go, Matt,” she groaned, legs trembling slightly. His head fell, forehead resting on her shoulder as he thrust into her a few more times, filling her. The sensation pushed her over, too, and she clenched around him, biting his name back between clenched teeth.

Matt collapsed on top of her, and she held still for a moment, letting him get his senses back in order. Once he was grounded again, he moved, stroking the strands of hair stuck to her sweaty cheeks out of her face. He seemed lost in thought. “What is it?” she asked gently, turning to press a kiss to his palm.

He smiled slightly. “I really need to go to confession tomorrow,” he admitted, and she laughed softly, pulling him back down for another kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Ты говоришь многа - you talk a lot  
> мой дьявол - my devil  
> ты ебёшь меня, пожалуйста - fuck me, please  
> малинкой паук - little spider  
> Боже мой - My god  
> If you couldn’t figure out the hints in the beginning, the scents were Lavender (from her shampoo), gunpowder, and Pirozhki (a Russian pastry).


End file.
